


untitled smooch

by omg_wtf_yeah



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Community: sga_smooch, Established Relationship, M/M, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-22
Updated: 2011-08-22
Packaged: 2017-10-22 23:14:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/243630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/omg_wtf_yeah/pseuds/omg_wtf_yeah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rodney takes care of sick!John.</p>
            </blockquote>





	untitled smooch

“Rodney,” John peered at Rodney suspiciously, “this actually tastes good.” He tugged the collar of his black t-shirt and cleared his rough throat with a cautious cough. That cough was followed by another more forceful cough and another until John was halfway to touching his toes and in danger of spilling chicken noodle soup all over his already miserably tiny Lantean bed.

Rodney held the bowl steady with one hand and eased himself behind John. He took John’s murmur of question as direction and began stroking John’s back in soothing circles. “If you must know, Colonel Sick Bay, I’ve come to terms with the fact that among my manifold talents, cooking ranks lowly (which is not a bad trade for enormous intellect, I might add). Anyway, yes, as you love pointing out – I’m a bad cook and I realize that so I made a trade with Lt. Caulfield.”

John groaned, gratefully melting into the pressure of Rodney’s deft hands on his overheated body. “Real chicken?” he asked.

Rodney made a humming sound that said, _You probably don’t want to know_ , and verbalized, “Let’s say it’s something like that.”

John narrowed his eyes suspiciously at Rodney. But then – the tiny chunks of meat in the soup tasted like chicken and that was something a depth of suspicion or fear for the well-being of the Pegasus version of gorns could detract from. He slurped a spoonful of warm soup and let the brine taste of broth soothe his sore throat. “Good,” he repeated and Rodney chuckled, his breath light against the back of John's neck.

“You weren’t joking when you said you needed somebody over here. You’re totally pitiful when you’re sick.”

John wrinkled his nose. “I’m just like everybody else, Rodney, I need somebody to take care of me when I’m sick.” He twisted at the waist, trying unsuccessfully to point at the other man. “And you’re worse!”

“Yes, yes. I’ll just pretend I didn’t hear that.” John wasn’t sure if Rodney’s voice was indulgent or teasing but he was at least forty percent sure he could guarantee Teyla would kick Rodney’s ass for John if he asked her to (in the interest of justice).

But then again, Rodney’s fingers were soft and warm against John’s aching back, describing patterns, and whether or not Rodney was mocking John’s suffering, the comfort felt good. John craned his neck, presenting his pout. “Kiss?” he asked plaintively. “I feel like crap.”

Rodney wrinkled his nose. “I’m a doctor, not a kissing booth!”

“Oh, ha ha, McKay. C’mon!” John complained.

Rodney recoiled – not that he had anywhere to go, sitting between the Johnny Cash poster on the wall and John. “No way! With your germs and my luck, I’d probably die – and the universe can’t handle the loss of my skills.”

“Wow, Rodney, thanks for your concern,” John groused. He considered rescinding his standing invitation for Rodney to come over and stay over whenever.

Rodney chuckled and, after a second, dropped a kiss to John’s shoulder. “You’re such a baby.”


End file.
